How I eat.

The free food pile was threatening to overwhelm its corner.  At the time of this recipe, it contained: 2 half-open bottles of red wine (Two Buck Chuck for the win(e)!), a bottle of Cointreau, a mostly-gone bottle of tequila (notice the cork floating), two prickly pears, two limes (jalapeno-prickly pear-lime margaritas were the order of the night), a clove of garlic, and this horrible attempt at hazelnut-white chocolate-rose macarons (the piece of paper is a warning sign to all potentially interested parties).  (Since then, we've added several bottles of hot sauce, tamari almonds, hot dog buns, and some mate.)  The tragedy of the commons at work.

Clearly, something had to be done.  Fortunately, in addition to the dire state of The Corner, I had plans to attend the [Legendary] Anderson Valley Beer Festival.  The solution was then obvious - what better way to prevent the beer from going to our heads than these:

I don't even have to tell you what these are, for they have been marked with the international symbol of the peanut butter cookie.  This particular recipe was adapted from one of my favorite informational food blogs - the Joy of Baking.

When I took the pictures for this entry, I was thinking a lot about the banana bread post.  I have a image in the middle of the post of a slice of banana bread on a plate on the table.  I had just served it to David, and took a picture before it disappeared.  I like the way it sits, slightly tumbled, onto the plate.  It looks like food, it looks ready to be sampled, munched, gobbled...eaten.

That is how I serve food, and I much prefer that photo to the one I have at the end of the post.  It is true that I like a tablecloth and I like beautiful plates and I like elegant utensils...but I don't go a lot further than that.

I don't actually tie a scrap of purple cloth around my fork and eat banana bread on a lace doily.

I do, however, eat peanut butter cookies from a glass plate in the sunshine.  And I do drink milk out of mason jars.  Maybe you do, too.

What I found in Paul's cupboard.

Really, it was not my intent to pry.  I was just looking for the New Mexico chiles Paul keeps on his top shelf.  But lo, at eye level, were five of the most perfectly rotted bananas I had ever seen (as well as some manner of food item which had, with great success, disguised its original form with green mold).  I found the chiles, flung la terreur vert into the garbage, and allowed the bananas to continue on their path to enlightenment - I had other plans that day.

Nobly, they waited for the time when I had time to deal with this culinary find.  I pondered a roasted banana ice cream, but I still have half a quart of the coffee ice cream left over, so I decided to go with the classic.

My mother doesn't bake much.  She cooks almost every night, her salad dressings are to die for (as are her salads), and I'll share her quiche recipe soon enough.  But cookies, cakes, and all their delightful cousins are just not things she makes on a regular basis.

There are a few exceptions to this rule.  And let me tell you, those exceptions are executed perfectly.  Her Dutch apple pie and her brandy cake are requested weeks in advance.  You can find a yogurt container filled with her bran muffin batter in my fridge every other month.  But the recipe I'm sharing today is for her banana bread.

Wait, what?  I know, I know.  There is no shortage of banana bread recipes on the internet and in cookbooks - I'm sure you've got your own favorite.  I myself used the Silver Palate recipe for many years.  (Try it coated with sesame seeds - visually lovely, and very tasty.)  But maybe you're like me, and you've got a standby, but you're keeping an eye out for more (actually, this is more reflective of my brownie quest than my banana bread quest).  And maybe this will catch your fancy.

One of the things I like best about this recipe, and probably about banana bread in general, is that it is so easy to play with.  Might be I have candied ginger and candied lemon peel lying around - sounds like banana bread!  Walnuts?  Pecans?  Why not.  Golden raisins?  Dried cranberries?  Orange zest?  Count me in!  I do have a habit of turning my banana bread into a kitchen sink, but it tastes so good…

I tried to rein myself in this time.  I wanted to emphasize the flavor and the texture of the bread, and not overwhelm it with mix-in's an' fillin's an' toppin's.  I do have a few things that I always like to do (the toppings at the end), and I've included those.

Banana Bread:

Ingredients:

1/2 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup white sugar

2 large eggs

3 very ripe bananas

1 tsp vanilla extract

1.5 cups flour (I usually use half white, and half whole wheat pastry flour)

1/2 cup sour cream (I rarely have sour cream, and often have yogurt.  This makes an excellent substitution.  I imagine buttermilk would work as well, though I have never tried this.)

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

3/4 cup nuts (I usually use walnuts or pecans)

1/2 cup raisins or other dried fruit (or a mix!) or other exciting mix-ins

turbinado or other coarse sugar (optional)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350F.  Butter and flour two 8x4 loaf pans.  (You can use a smaller pan to get taller loaves, but I like the way the bread domes in the 8x4 pan.)
2. Toast the nuts (a toaster oven at 350F for 3-5 minutes works great.  Keep an eye on them, though!  You want the nuts browned and smelling toasted and delicious, but not too dark.)  Once the nuts have cooled, chop them coarsely.
3. Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy.
4. Add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides after each addition.  (A Maida Heatter tip: crack your eggs into a bowl first.  If you're like me, and have troubles with shell bits falling in, this will save your life.  And your bread.)
5. Add the vanilla, and the bananas.  Beat on medium until the bananas are completely broken up.  The batter will look slightly curdled, but this is normal.
6. Add the flour, and beat on low until almost combined.
7. Add the sour cream (or whatever you choose to substitute), and beat briefly.
8. Add the baking soda (sift to make sure there are no lumps) and the salt.
9. Mix until combined.
10. Fold in your mix-ins of choice.
11. Divide the batter evenly between the loaf pans, and sprinkle the tops with nuts and turbinado (if using).
12. Bake about 50 minutes (I always check at 45, just in case), or until a toothpick comes out clean.
13. Enjoy!

Two Things Involving Immersion Blenders

I love my immersion blender.  I remember not quite knowing what it was, or why people seemed to whip it out and immerse, without fear, into whatever-it-was that needed pulverizing.  But now that I have one, everything has changed.  I use it for black beans, for hot chocolate, and, now, for spinach soup and Vietnamese iced coffee ice cream.

One of those sounds slightly fancier than the other, but fear not!  The spinach soup has the added benefit of a parmesan custard from which you shave off cheesy, eggy curls that transform the spoonful of soup into something special.  Something delightful.  Something that makes you want to add a second custard to the bowl because they're really not that big and the first one is mostly gone...

I digress.  But since I'm already on the topic of soup, I'll start with that.  It is a simple recipe, one to use if you have an overload of spinach and a potato lying around.  (This is rare for me, actually.  Not the spinach - the potato.  I have a difficult time purchasing white vegetables.  If you have ever read Bunnicula, you'll know why.)  To be honest, it is more of an outline than a recipe and flexible enough to include the old head of broccoli that's been staring at you for the last week.

Spring Spinach-Potato Soup:


Ingredients:
2 Tbl olive oil
1 yellow onion, chopped small
2 small potatoes (I used yellow wax), cut into thick (2mm) slices (really, you just want them chopped so that they don't take too long to cook)
10 loose cups of fresh spinach (loose like you dumped them in the bowl loose)
3 cups of vegetable stock (I used this recipe)
other green vegetable odds and ends (broccoli, kale...)
salt and coarsely ground pepper to taste

3 parmesan custards (or half of this recipe)

Directions:
Heat the olive oil in a large-ish soup pot over medium heat.  Add the onion and saute until it starts to become translucent and begins to brown.  Add the potatoes, and continue to saute until the potatoes are cooked.  Stir frequently.

Add the stock (my stock is inherently very salty, so I didn't add much extra salt.  Salt at your discretion).  Once the stock begins to boil (you can accelerate this process by heating the stock in a pan before adding it), add the spinach (in parts, if necessary), and simmer until the spinach has wilted.  Blend the soup (if you use a blender, don't do too much at a time, and definitely use the lid.  Then, go out and buy an immersion blender.).  If the consistency is to your liking, excellent.  If not, feel free to add more stock until it's how you like it.  Cover, and simmer for 30 minutes.

Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.  I like a lot of pepper (say 2 teaspoons or so), but you're free to adjust.

Prepare the bowls:
Warm your bowls.  (Please warm them.  It is so much nicer.)  Unmold a parmesan custard, and put it in the center of your bowl.  Pour soup around the custard.

Serve with a crusty bread.  And parmesan cheese, if you are like me and can't get enough of it.

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Now, for your dessert.  This mix is intended for ice cream, but I think it would be perfect just to sip (provided you enjoy Vietnamese iced coffee), possibly with a few coffee ice cubes.

Vietnamese iced coffee ice cream:
From David Lebovitz's The Perfect Scoop
Ingredients:
1.5 cups sweetened condensed milk
1.5 cups espresso or very strongly brewed coffee
.5 cup half-and-half
pinch of ground coffee

Mix all ingredients together (the condensed milk is thick, so I used the immersion blender), then chill thoroughly.  Freeze according to your ice cream maker's instructions.

Bam!  Delicious, delicious ice cream.  Very good for ice cream sandwiches.

Note: if you want to infuse the coffee with some extra flavors (I used mint and cardamom), heat the half-and-half in a small sauce pan.  Remove from heat, and add the freshly-brewed hot (hot!) espresso, and then add your spices.  In my case, I added 2 cups of loosely packed fresh mint leaves, and 4 green cardamom pods.  Put the lid on the sauce pan and let sit undisturbed for an hour or so.  Strain out the spices/herbs, add the condensed milk and the ground coffee, and proceed as before with chilling.

Lessons from Lothlorien

I'm not sure if I gave the right impression in my last post.  About my family and food, that is.  Food was, and continues to be, very important in my family: most family parties center around food and the preparation of a meal.  My parents (and their spouses/significant others) are really excellent cooks, and care a great deal about eating well - in terms of both ingredients and nutrition.

We had a breakfast schedule growing up.  (Mondays and Fridays: oatmeal; Tuesdays and Thursdays: eggs; Wednesdays: cream of wheat).  And we would all sit down together.  It was fabulous; even now it is difficult for me to eat eggs on a Monday.

Food was important, and an important ritual for us.  But I think I learned to love food, and appreciate it for itself, for an art, for a sensual experience, when I moved into Lothlorien Co-op, in Berkeley.  At Loth, I learned to be much more aware of what and how I ate; I was already vegetarian, but I started to think about where my food came from, who produced it, and how it was grown or made.  Loth made you think about the politics of your food (in that semi-self-righteous way in which co-ops are well-practiced).  Which is good, for the most part.

Equally important, though, was the way Loth took sensual pleasure in food.   We had parties just to celebrate making outrageously delicious food, and, of course, eating it.  There is joy in food, and I think it is important to be able to feel that joy.  More lessons from Lothlorien will happen later, I am sure.

I think Berkeley, the city, shares much of this, particularly in places like the Gourmet Ghetto.  I took my gentleman to the Chez Panisse Cafe recently, in celebration of his postdoctoral position.  It was a rare and wonderful treat (read: never before), and for dessert, we had a Meyer Lemon and Pink Lady Galette.  Chez Panisse's came with a scoop of the finest vanilla ice cream (on par with Ici) - I had no opportunity to make ice cream, but if you do, go for it.  I've rambled enough - what follows is my attempt to recreate the recipe.  May you always take joy in your meals.

Ingredients:
1 recipe Galette Dough (recipe follows)
Meyer Lemon curd (I used David Lebovitz's recipe)
2 Pink Lady apples
lemon water (4 cups water to a tablespoon of lemon juice)
coarse sugar (such as turbinado)

To Assemble:

1. Preheat the oven to 375F, and place an oven rack in the lower third of the oven.
2. Prepare the apples:
1. Wash the apples, cut into quarters, and remove the core.
2. Slice the apples thinly (about a millimeter thick).
3. Dip the apple slices into lemon water (it keeps them from browning) and set aside.
3. Line a wide baking sheet with parchment paper.
4. Roll the galette dough out to a 13- or 14-inch circle - try to keep the edges from getting too jaggedy.
5. Transfer the dough to the sheet pan (it may hang over the edge a little - this is fine for now).
6. Spread 1/3-1/2 cup of the lemon curd onto the dough, leaving a 1.5- to 2-inch border (the curd should cover the dough - no see-through spots - but how much beyond that is up to you.  If you love lemon curd, feel free to add a little extra.).
7. Starting from the outside edge of the lemon curd, place apple slices in a spiral to the center.  A slice should overlap the slice that came before it, and the slices in the previous row.
8. Fold the outer edge of the galette dough over the apples, pleating the dough as necessary.
9. Brush the overlapping edge with water, and sprinkle coarse sugar over the crust and apples.
10. Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the crust is golden brown, and feels crisp.
11. Cool on a rack.  Serve, if at all possible, with a scoop of delicious vanilla ice cream.

Galette Dough:
From Rustic Fruit Desserts by Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson


1 3/4 cups (8 3/4 ounces) all-purpose flour
1 Tbl granulated sugar
3/4 tsp fine sea salt
3/4 cup (6 ounces) cold unsalted butter
3 Tbl ice water (or more as needed - I needed more)
1 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

Directions:

1. Whisk flour, sugar, and salt in a bowl, then put the bowl in the freezer for about 10 minutes (until cold).
2. Cut the butter into 1/4-inch cubes, then add to the flour mixture and cut in with a pastry cutter (my instrument of choice), two forks, or your fingers, just until the mixture is coarse and crumbly and the chunks of butter are slightly smaller than peas.
3. Mix the water and lemon juice, then drizzle over the flour-butter mixture.  Toss with a fork to distribute the liquid.  The pastry should hold together if you squeeze it.  If not, add more water.
4. Lightly flour a work surface, and dump the dough onto it.  Gather the dough and knead it just a few times (like, three) until it sticks together.  Handle it as little as possible, and if it is getting too warm, put it in the freezer for a few minutes.
5. Flatten the dough into a disk about 1 inch thick.  Wrap tightly in plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for 1 hour (it will keep for up to three days if well-wrapped).  You can also freeze the dough at this point (up to three months) - I usually put the dough in an extra layer of plastic, however - and defrost it overnight in the fridge.